I’ll write local travel reviews, pour over them.  
The wind picks up my solemnity — 
I’ll look out from attic bedrooms,  
Watch others work, sounds they make,  
Steeples, chimneys — smoke masks over the gloom.
How others say we’re screwed into the lining fast, in one sketchy
Horny trap. How nearby towns burn dry to stay mechanical, forced awake.